He doesn’t say anything, just concentrates on stroking the horse’s flank.
“So … you’re ready?” asks Nahul’s papa.
“Yes,” I say. “Are you OK, Jeevan?”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, shooting me an irritated look. “I’m feeling fine.”
Nahul takes a carved wooden elephant from his pocket and thrusts it into my hand. “I made it myself.” He blushes.
I give a shy smile as I take it. “Thank you.” I hold it in my palm, admiring the delicate trunk that points to the sky. “I’ll treasure it always.”
Jeevan looks sulky, turns as if to say something to me, but stays tight-lipped.
“And this is for Jeevan … to keep him warm.” Nahul holds out a goatskin jacket.
“Er … thank you.” He slips it on. “Thank you all.”
“Wait,” calls Teenu, running up to us, carrying two flower garlands. “These are for your journey.”
Nahul lifts her up so she can reach us.
“Grandmother helped me … I hope you find your papa.” She raises the white bakul flowers and puts them around our necks.
The garland’s sweet incense-like smell surrounds me. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been so kind and generous.”
They all give a final wave as we turn to leave.
“We won’t forget you,” says Jeevan, ignoring Nahul and looking across to the rest of the family.
“Keep walking toward the peaks,” says Nahul’s papa. “And once you start the climb you’ll see prayer flags all along the path to the temple—they’ll guide your journey. Stay alert. Lack of food is bringing the snow leopards lower down.”
Jeevan and I exchange a fearful look. “We will,” we say, finally turning away from the house, keeping the impressive mountain range straight in front of us, its layers of snow making it shine like a flashing diamond in the sun.
My breath blows ahead of me like woodsmoke and I pull my sleeves over my hands to keep them warm. The early-morning fog rises in swirls from the valley below as we concentrate on walking as quickly as we can.
We eventually reach a steep, rugged slope edged with pines, where a sign for Kasare points upward. We begin the climb to the temple and I stretch up and sling Jeevan’s arm around my shoulder.
He pulls away. “Thank you for looking after me … but I’m not a baby, you know. I’m much stronger now.”
“Come on, grumpy guts,” I tease. “You were right about staying together and I’m glad it’s just the two of us again.”
We clamber farther and farther toward the temple, the clear blue sky stretching ahead of us like a never-ending piece of silk.
“I think we’ll be there before dark if we carry on walking this quickly,” I say, assessing the height of the sun. “But if you need a rest, you must tell me … You will, won’t you?”
“Promise,” he says.
Just as Nahul’s papa said, there are colorful prayer flags tied to the lower branches of the trees.
Jeevan is full of life, just like before, his shoulders back as if he could walk forever.
“Look at you, steaming ahead.”
“See, I told you.”
We continue walking steadily upward, until the outline of a figure bent over a stick appears ahead of us. As we get closer I see it’s an old woman wearing an orange sari.
“Namaste,” I say, raising my hands to her. With the flower garland that Teenu gave me this morning and my short hair, I feel like I fit perfectly on the route to the temple.
She raises her hands back to us and smiles as we pass.
The air gets even colder the higher we climb, the golden sun dropping to the west, and I pull my hoodie tight around myself as we keep clambering on.
My legs are suddenly heavy and each step is more difficult to take, the gravel scraping under my feet as I force myself up the curve of the mountain path. I stop to catch my breath but when we turn the next corner, there in the bluish haze of early evening is my spirit bird, hovering in the biting breeze.
“Jeevan, look!” I cry in surprise. “Remember I told you there was a bird that came into the forest … when you were ill?” I glance across at his expression to guess what he thinks. “It perched on the shelter while I was away … My nanijee’s spirit is looking after us.”
“It would be good if she was,” he says, picking up his pace. “But let’s get to the temple. That’s what we need to focus on.”
I suppose I can’t expect him to feel the same magic as me, but I’m disappointed all the same. He’s still so matter-of-fact about it, despite everything that’s happened.
The lamagaia glides over us and lands on a rock balanced on the ridge ahead.
A shot of energy comes from nowhere and suddenly I feel I have wings. I hardly notice my ragged breathing as I reach the ridge ahead of Jeevan … and there it is at last! The temple!
I fall to my knees and touch my forehead to the stony ground in prayer.
“This is where Shiva threw his hair into the Ganges,” I say, totally in awe, rising to my feet again. “Can you believe we’re here?”
It’s more magnificent than anything I’ve ever seen before. Carved from an iridescent rose-colored rock, the temple has four spiraling turrets, which almost disappear into the sky, and in the center a wide dome covered in pale orange-colored tiles sparkles like a rising sun.
Jeevan grabs me by the arms and begins swinging me around. “Asha! We’re here, we’re here, we’re here!” he sings.
“We’ve done it,” we whisper together, looking down on the temple, our voices rising into the twilight.
A pathway runs from the top of the ridge down to the imposing arched doorway of the temple, which has colored glass windows on either side. The tiny ochre lights from the deevay glow yellow, pink, and blue, and have been placed everywhere
